


England's Eyes

by Dev_Writes



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arthur Kirkland - Freeform, Battle Of Waterloo, FrUK, Francis Bonnefoy - Freeform, historical (ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-12-14 21:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11792118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dev_Writes/pseuds/Dev_Writes
Summary: Francis should feel nothing but hatred toward Arthur, the man who had once again defeated him.  But all he can think about are those emerald eyes staring back at him.  Set during the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.





	England's Eyes

England’s eyes were very green.

A simple observation, yes, but a notable one.  They were not just green, but strikingly so.  Oddly enough, this was the thought that occupied Francis’s mind in the moments before his death.  He was being pinned down to the moist Waterloo soil by a rough hand on his throat, too bloody and broken and exhausted to even try to utter a word of protest.   The hand belonged to England, who was glowering down at him with a look of both hatred and superiority.  “How does it feel, frog?” England sneered.  “How does it feel to know you’ve lost?  That your precious empire will collapse because of your stupid mistake?  How does it feel to know you’ve failed?”

Francis wanted to still feel pride for what he had accomplished. Under Napoleon, he had risen to the top.  He had practically dominated the continent.  He was arguably the most powerful nation in the world.  He was feared, he was mighty, he was conquering.  Yes, under Emperor Napoleon, he was unstoppable.

Or, so he had thought.  Now was his downfall.  This was the moment his entire world crumbled around him. He was at the mercy of the country he despised the most, the country he had been most excited to defeat.  Indeed, whenever Francis had needed a boost of determination, he just thought of what it would be like to have the little bastard trapped helplessly under his control.  He was going to show the world that France was the best, and that even England was no longer powerful enough to defeat him.  But he was wrong.

And yet, in this very moment, he felt no sorrow.  He felt no regret or fear.  He didn’t seem to feel anything, actually.  He was too mesmerized by those emerald irises to do anything other than stare into them with a slight sense of … was it wonderment?  He couldn’t quite pinpoint it.  Even when full of such malice, they somehow were still beautiful.   Of course, Francis would later chastise himself for having such thoughts and promptly swear revenge on his sworn enemy.  But for now, he could do nothing.

“Come on, fight back, you coward!”  England’s hand constricted tighter around Francis’s neck, as if prompting him to retaliate.  But Francis didn’t move.  There was no fight left in him, and he refused to give his enemy the satisfaction of a struggle.  So instead he closed his weary eyes, letting England’s extraordinarily vibrant ones be the last thing he saw before England's blood-stained sword slashed ruthlessly through his body.


End file.
